


Witch's Blood

by Freya_Ishtar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Southern Vampire Mysteries - Charlaine Harris, True Blood (TV)
Genre: Blood Drinking, F/M, Gen, Mystery, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Romance, Smut, Vampires, canon-divergent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2019-10-03 17:03:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17288018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freya_Ishtar/pseuds/Freya_Ishtar
Summary: When a string of vampire attacks in Wizarding Britain seems to center on the Hogwarts 7th years, Minerva enlists an ally from her youth to investigate. Unable to fulfill the needed Blood Covenant herself, Hermione takes her place. She's only trying to help Minerva and stop the murders, but once she meets Eric Northman, she finds a whole new reason. *AU-ish* SPORADIC UPDATES





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> I know, I know, another fic, I'm a horrible person. Not [entirely] my fault. Alexander Skarsgard is my Lucius Malfoy fancast, and one of my wonderful readers mistook an upcoming Lumione fic aesthetic for a HP/TB crossover . . . and here we are.
> 
> 1) This is a vampire fic, so do expect there to be a fair amount of bloodletting & blood drinking. Additionally, this is Eric coming into the HP world, so do not expect the other TB characters to make an appearance.
> 
> 2) Eric's opinion on female figures is taken more from the book series than the HBO drama.
> 
> 3) Story Timeline: 2007 (one year after vampires 'came out of the coffin,' according to the series) As stated in the summary, this is AU-ish, so the events from TB won't have an affect on this story.
> 
> 4) Chapter lengths may vary wildly (some may be 5k words, some may not reach 2k). Updates will be sporadic (there may be a week of 5 back-to-back updates, or no update for [at least] a month, and very likely some mix of both).
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, True Blood (Southern Vampire Mysteries/Sookie Stackhouse Novels), or any affiliated characters, and make no profit, in any form, from this work.

 

   **Chapter One**

"Just once," he said, the faintest smirk curving his lips, "I do wish we could meet under more . . . pleasant circumstances."

Minerva smiled in spite of herself—he could always be so charming when he wanted to—and sipped her tea. Setting down her cup against its saucer, she responded, "I wasn't sure if you'd come, yourself, or send someone in your stead. I understand your position is fairly important."

With a sigh, he looked about the Headmistress' office. "Important? Yes. But often not very exciting. Not like what is happening in your little corner of the world. Besides, Pam is more than eager to take the reins in my stead. More fittingly, she is capable."

The witch wouldn't say it, but she was glad he'd not sent his Childe in his place. Oh, she liked Pam's no-nonsense attitude the few times they'd met just fine, but they were too alike in some ways, and there was only so long they could put up with one another.

She doubted very much the person who'd have to take  _her_  place would tolerate Pam any better.

"Besides, it has been a bit long since we last saw one another. I was eager for the opportunity to catch up in person. Your people are so interesting." He let it go unsaid that she'd aged. Unsaid that he was glad to hear from an old friend who could've very well been dead by now for all he'd known.

Witches of Minerva McGonagall's sort were many things,  _unfortunately-close-to-human_  among them—their lives just as fragile and only a little less fleeting. Oh, if he did not adore her kind so . . . .

"We can catch up after the more official part of this reunion is handled, Eric."

Snickering, he nodded. Yes, yes, there she went, all business. Even as a teenage girl so many years ago, she'd had an ability to put aside feelings and focus that he'd admired greatly.

He nodded, waving one long-fingered hand in a movement that seemed almost too graceful for a man of his stature.

"As Keeper of the Covenant, I implore you to assist us in finding the culprit behind these crimes." Her expression severe, she nodded before going on. "However, I am aware that I am past the age of viability for renewing our Covenant. Being without children to pass on the duty, I have asked one whom I trust, one whom I look upon as my own daughter, to take up the Covenant in my stead."

Arching a brow, he pursed his lips for a moment. "With my approval, of course."

"Of course," Minerva echoed with another nod.

"Very well. I will meet her."

* * *

_Minerva placed the scroll down beside the copy of the Daily Prophet, its headline screaming across the front page_ Vampire Terrorizes Wizarding Britain.  _Hermione only watched the elder witch as Minerva settled back in her chair on the other side of her desk._

_"As you know, one year ago, vampires made their existence known to the entire world._ Our  _world, on the other hand, has always known of them." Minerva folded her hands neatly before her upon the desktop. "When they . . . 'came out of the coffin', as they call it, they took with them secrets. One of those secrets being the existence of our world."_

_Hermione frowned, her movements tentative as she reached for the scroll._

_"When the Muggle world thinks of witches, they think of some tree worshipers, or something out of a fairy tale; wizards something out of fantasy. Our existence is kept secret only by the discretion of those . . . shall we call them other magical species who've made themselves known. But the reason why they see fit to keep us secret is because we have had a 'we do not bother them, they do not bother us' arrangement."_

_"And yet, here's a vampire in_ our _world, murdering teen-aged witches and wizards."_

_"Precisely the point I'm coming to. We can reach out to them for aid, when necessary. However . . . ." Minerva nodded toward the scroll as her former student's fingers closed around it. "The way their world works, most common vampires don't actually know of us beyond stories. The ones in power do. The ones who would deal directly with us in such a circumstance, their official title is sheriff. Yes, yes, like the Muggle law enforcement position."_

_"And so we're to expect one of these sheriffs?"_

_Once more, Minerva nodded. "Now, the issue there being that Wizarding Britain is not just one of their Areas, but covers several. Normally, the sheriff of a particular Area would find the culprit and take him or her before their magister. They don't know this is happening. Our secrecy is actually our problem in times such as these. In order to keep contact to a minimum, thus maintaining the aforementioned arrangement, we cannot reach out to every sheriff who would normally be alerted to this sort of situation."_

_Hermione swallowed hard, holding the scroll, unopened, still. She could only guess that magisters were those to whom these sheriffs deferred. "So what do we do?"_

_"As it happens, there is a particular sheriff with whom I have a personal history. He doesn't have any sort of jurisdiction here, as his territory is across the pond,_ but  _they don't adhere to strict human ideals in such matters. He would be able to come here, investigate the matter, and report it to the proper magister on our behalf."_

_"How do I figure into all of this, Professor?" Hermione was a professor in her own right, now, but still she could not shake the old habit of referring to Minerva McGonagall by that title. She didn't believe she'd ever be comfortable calling her Minerva. "Am I to act as some sort of liaison for this sheriff?"_

_"You needn't call me Professor any longer, Hermione. You are my subordinate, but we_ are  _colleagues, now." Minerva's mouth quirked upward at the corners, though it wasn't quite a smile. "But, in a manner of speaking, yes. The scroll in your hand is a Blood Covenant. Once one is formed, it is typically passed down in a witch or wizard's family line, binding them to a particular vampire. Many years ago, the village where I was born required vampire assistance. I created this Covenant with him, but they have a . . . shelf-life, if you will. They are only good for a span of fifty years, and cannot be renewed until the full five decades have passed, ensuring the Keeper of the Covenant cannot abuse the vampire's offer of assistance by calling on them often." She shrugged. "_ Often  _as a comparative term, of course, given that these are exceedingly long-lived creatures."_

_The younger witch's brow furrowed as the meaning sank in. She was both flattered that she was who the elder witch thought of in lieu of a child of her own, and deeply unsure of just what was being asked of her. "You want me to take your place as Keeper?"_

_"Yes. To ask assistance after those fifty years have passed, the Covenant must be renewed. However, the binding can be . . . taxing. We both know that as a witch, I still have a long while ahead of me, but my dear, I_ am _seventy-two years old. There's but so much this old heart can take."_

_Hermione sighed, weighing the scroll on her palm. She literally did not want to open it. She couldn't recall a time in her life when she'd wanted to read something_ less _. "And_ renewing  _the Covenant . . . since these are vampires, should I even guess what that means?"_

_"You would have to exchange blood with him."_

_Her gaze darting about, touching the varied items on Minerva's desk as she puzzled over that, Hermione asked, "I'd imagine it would be painful, but is being bitten by a vampire really so taxing?"_

_A sparkle lit Minerva McGonagall's eyes, one that Hermione was sure she'd never see before, as her thin lips moved in a half-smile. "Oh, no, my dear. It's what_ his  _blood might do to_ you _."_

* * *

Hermione stood outside the Headmistress' office, the door to the spiraling lift closed as she waited for Professor McGonagall—Minerva, for  _Minerva_ —to call her. For the umpteenth time, she rotated her shoulders and made sure she held her head high.  _Minerva_  had told her that it was due to her Covenant, and her high standing in the Wizarding Community, that the Ministry had allowed her to handle seeking vampire aid. Had warned her that her acceptability as the new Keeper was a decision that rested with the vampire. Warned that his first appearance could be rather intimidating if he was in a mood _to_  be intimidating.

Oh, and that for a person in good health, the taste of his blood—just a single drop—could have a euphoric effect. A euphoric effect that could last hours.

Holding in a weighted sigh, she buried her face in her hands. Just her luck, her first meeting with this person she was supposed to work with in some fashion and she  _might_  make a damn fool of herself because of the effect his blood _might_ have on her.

_Brilliant_.

"Hermione, come in, please."

Exhaling long and slow, she nodded to herself as the door opened. She stepped inside, offering the elder witch a warm smile. Almost of their own volition, her eyes drifted over to lock on the man seated in one of the armchairs that faced the Headmistress' desk.

That warm smile slid right off her face.

Hermione had no idea how anyone could sit in another person's office and somehow manage to affect an air like they owned everything in sight. She could tell from the width of his shoulders and the length of his limbs that he must be quite tall when standing. Long, pale—almost Malfoy-blond—hair brushed the shoulders of his black leather coat, a dusting of slightly darker gold lined his jaw and around his mouth in only the most faintly obvious five o'clock shadow.

But it was his eyes that truly caught her. Something in those blue eyes was so sharply closed off that she couldn't put it into words.

Oh, yes, she could imagine he had it in him to be  _quite_  intimidating, if he chose. Possibly quite a few other things, too, but she wasn't going to begin to let her mind wander in that direction.

She was acutely aware of that closed-off gaze moving over her in a long sweep. Acutely aware of the smirk that curved his lips as he returned his attention to Minerva.

"Do you not feed this one? I have seen saplings with more breadth to them."

Hermione's jaw fell. There was a disdain in his voice just now; she'd never heard anyone make being thin sound so much like an insult before. If not for the cognizance of Minerva waving a silencing hand at her, she might've snapped a barbed retort.

He flicked his gaze over his shoulder, registering the way the younger witch squared her jaw and damn near  _visibly_  bit back a response—she didn't need to know he'd be trying to gauge her reaction. Well, perhaps she'd give him reason to overlook her slight stature.

Minerva folded her lips inward, her attention flicking back and forth between the two of them. Perhaps she should've been a bit more emphatic and detailed with her warnings to Hermione. Of course, she didn't truly believe any amount of warning could brace anyone for  _him_.

Had she mentioned about witch's blood earlier? Oh, Merlin, she couldn't recall just now.

Shaking her head at herself, Minerva cleared her throat. "Hermione Granger," she started as he unfolded himself from the armchair and rose to his full height, "this is my old friend, Eric Northman."

Though she tipped her head back to hold his gaze, Hermione kept her features carefully schooled, the only change to her expression being the rather severe arch of one eyebrow—a look she'd clearly picked up from the elder witch. "I know it's a common turn of phrase, but how old _is_  old?"

He made a face, then, that she thought was perhaps him trying to hold in a laugh. "Are you looking for an exact figure, or will an approximate estimation suffice? Because I should tell you that after a time, the years begin to blend together a bit."

Hermione tried to hide the way she reflexively forced a gulp down her throat, but the flicker of his eyes toward her neck for the briefest second told her she'd failed. "Approximate is fine, then."

"One thousand."

" _What?!"_

"Hermione," Minerva hissed in a warning tone as Eric's brows shot up.

The younger witch had turned on her heel to pace the room, seemingly not hearing Minerva at all, as she shook a finger at no one in particular. "Are you joking? A thousand? A thousand  _years old_! I'm . . . I'm just going to need a moment with this, all right? This was all just sort of tossed on me, and I just roll with it, now. Like Harry and bloody Dumbledore, we've become, I suppose? Honestly! Vampires? Fine. Blood Covenants? Okay. Letting a man who just insulted my figure make the decision about whether or not I'm even  _acceptable_  as a substitute? Sure, why the bloody hell not! But he's as old as the castle we're standing in! How is  _any_  mind supposed to process _all_  that and just keep going?"

"Miss Granger," Minerva said, her words slipping out from between lightly clenched teeth. "I understand your need to . . . vent, as they say, but if anyone's mind can process all of this and 'just keep going,' we both know it's  _yours_."

Hermione scowled, halting midstride. Minerva was right, Hermione knew she was. It was just a lot to take in, even if she  _had_ already processed it. She still needed to let off steam about the entire thing.

Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, the younger witch turned back to face them. Minerva watched her with a tense expression, clearly worried for the impression she was making on the vampire. The vampire, on the other hand, had an arm folded across his chest and one fist curled under his chin as he stared at her.

His eyes narrowed, holding her gaze for a long, quiet moment before he looked to Minerva. "Yes, she's acceptable."

Obviously they'd both thought he would find this Hermione's display a turn-off, because the look of surprise on both witches' faces at his words nearly forced a laugh out of him.

"Well, then," Minerva said after she collected herself. Bracing her palms against the desktop, she stood, nodding toward the scroll in Hermione's hand. "I'll leave you to it, then. The scroll will tell you what you need to say to begin the renewal process."

Hermione blanched as the other woman rounded her desk and started for the door. "You're leaving?"

"I'll be back when the signing is done. And trust me." Minerva leaned close, whispering in Hermione's ear as she went by, "I speak from experience. You'll not want an audience for what comes next."

Though he probably hadn't meant to let the sound slip out, he snickered just then. Hermione snapped her gaze from the retreating witch to look at him. Bloody hell, vampires had sharp hearing, didn't they?

Once they were alone, he dropped his arms to his sides. "Shall we?"

_I_ can't  _believe she talked me into this_ , she thought in a sour tone as she gave herself a shake. It wasn't about who'd asked her to do what. It was about not letting anymore children die, and since the Ministry's attempts at investigating the murders themselves had been exercises in futility . . . .

With a deep, steadying breath, she nodded. "I hope you know what you're getting into in choosing to deal with  _me_."

He narrowed his eyes in an appraising look as he stepped closer. "I imagine," he said as he eased the scroll from her hand and placed it on the desk, "you think yourself quite the handful."

"Oh, it's not just what _I_  think. I'm sure given time, you'll think it, too."

One corner of Eric's mouth plucked upward. "You are interesting, I will grant you that much. But you should know this is a two-way street. I can call upon you if I need your assistance. For the next fifty years, we will be connected."

"You always speak in such a finite way, don't you?"

Arching a brow, he frowned thoughtfully before nodding. He opened the scroll, directing her attention to the words.

Hermione turned, hyper-aware of his presence at her back as he loomed over her shoulder. She jumped a little at a sound like bone clicking against bone, inadvertently bumping into him.

Swallowing hard, she looked up at him. He appeared to have been waiting for that, as his gaze captured hers the moment her eyes reached his face. She had no idea their fangs made a sound when they slipped free.

"What?" he asked as he noticed the way her brows furrowed.

"I just always thought . . . I thought vampire's fangs would be extended canine teeth. The reality of their placement is jarring, is all."

"You are an odd one."

Marshalling her focus, Hermione turned her attention back to the scroll. "An odd handful you're about to be stuck with for fifty years."

"Ready?"

She nodded, remembering the procedure Minerva had explained. Holding up her left wrist, she tried to brace for what his fangs sinking into her skin might feel like.

"As Keeper of the Covenant, I, Hermione Granger, implore you to assist us in finding the vampire committing murders in Wizarding Britain."

He clasped her wrist in one, surprisingly gentle—if cold—hand. "As the vampire bound by this Covenant, I, Eric Northman, hear your plea . . . and accept."

Rather suddenly, she found his other arm around her. The sleeve of his coat pushed back to his elbow, he reached out to take the quill Minerva had set down not far from the scroll. He turned his bared wrist, and she could see the twin puncture marks in his skin.

His blood dripped down, darkly crimson and entirely too thick looking, to spot on the scroll over the place he'd originally signed five decades before. Dipping the quill into the droplet of deep red, he wrote his signature anew.

Pressing the quill into her waiting right hand, he lifted her wrist to his mouth with his left. She jumped, hissing a breath at the shock of pain through her body as his teeth pierced her. If not for his assistance—moving her arm over the scroll and turning her wrist so the blood dripped down—she might've forgotten the next step in that moment.

Taking a breath, she ignored that the pain was somehow oddly gratifying. She nodded to herself, touching the quill's tip to her own drop of blood. Forcing herself not to hesitate—difficult, knowing what would come next, the step without which the Covenant would not be complete, the step Minerva had warned her about—she signed, sure her fingers were trembling as she set aside the quill.

She squeaked out a sound of shock as she found herself moved backward. _Impossibly_  fast, it seemed, Eric was seated in the nearest armchair with her deposited on his lap.

Her chestnut eyes shooting wide, she turned her head to meet his gaze.

Those closed off blue eyes holding hers steadily, he simply said, "Trust me."

Hermione only watched him as he lifted her bleeding wrist toward his lips. His eyes on hers, still, he let his lids drift shut as he closed his lips around her wounds.

A shivering breath caught in her throat at the feeling. The sensation of his tongue stroking her skin around the punctures, of his mouth drawing out her blood in slow pulls, caused her pulse thrum in her veins and sent a sweet tremor through her.

Once again, she nearly forgot herself in the moment, only remembering that it was not yet complete when he lifted his wrist to her mouth. His wounds nearly closed, now, she realized she would only get a few drops before it sealed entirely.

Worried whether or not that would be enough to bind the Covenant, she dragged herself back to her senses and ran her tongue over the pinpricks of blood dotting his pale skin.

Just as fast as she'd found her senses, she lost them again. Every inch of her tingled sweetly and she slumped against him. The colors of the room around her swirled and flickered and she closed her eyes to block out the dazzling wash of illumination.

He kept himself in check, no small feat with the decadent flavor of witch's blood. He drank just until he was sure his blood was in her system. There would be time later, time she might again willingly offer it to him.

She was only very distantly aware that he'd pulled her wrist from his mouth. Only distantly aware of him cradling her against his chest in a shockingly delicate hold.

Somehow, in that swirl of color still dancing behind her eyes and blissful sensations zinging across her skin and coursing through her limbs, she managed to find her voice. "You did tell me to trust you."

Eric chuckled softly, resting his chin atop her head as he waited for her to ride out the high from his blood. "In the days to come, you will learn I am often right."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_She was cognizant of the sensation of cool skin against hers. It was nearly as though she could see a spray of sparks playing across her limbs in the wake of his stroking fingers. There seemed no awareness—or even concern—of how they'd ended up without a stitch of fabric on either of them, no awareness of how she'd ended up straddling his lap. Though, it was a wonder she could be aware of anything coherent, at all, with the feel of him moving beneath her like this._

_Her forehead pressed lightly to his jaw as she scrambled to catch her breath, she braced her palms against his chest and pushed herself back enough to meet his gaze. He only stared at her in that steady, closed-off way of his as he dragged those stroking fingers up along her thighs to clamp them over her hips._

_A strange compulsion stole through her as his hands forced her into motion against his thrusts. She just barely refrained from choking out an ugly groan at the sweet, shivering tremors that wracked her. Scrambling for just the littlest bit of focus, she remembered what she'd wanted to do._

_Like this, skin-to-skin, as his eyes held hers._

_One corner of his mouth flicked upward even while he jerked under her, causing her to draw in a sharp, shaky gasp, as she offered him her still-bleeding wrist. There was a feeling she couldn't put into words at watching him seal his lips around her wounds . . . his tongue lapping over her broken skin._

Hermione's eyes snapped open. She was fully-clothed, curled up in Eric Northman's lap with her head tucked beneath his chin. That had seemed  _so_  real just now, she could still feel a sweet zing pulsing through her.

Nearly as though she could still feel him—

Pulling out of his loose embrace enough to sit up, she looked at him. Those blue eyes searched her features and she noticed something a little different in them, now. They were less closed off; just a bit, but still, the change was there.

Her brows pinched together as she asked in a whisper, "What just happened?" Minerva had told her about the euphoria, but she'd never mentioned anything about  _sordid_ , painfully-real seeming daydreams.

He snickered, his gaze snapping back up to hers as he traced the edge of her jaw with one finger. "It isn't usually this powerful at first, but then, you are a true witch. And based on that—as the saying goes—results may very. Perhaps I should have realized there was a chance the bond could be this intense at the start."

"Bond? So that dr—what I just saw was because of your blood?"

"Yes and no." He paused, too aware of the gulp she forced down her throat, then. "As it was an exchange, that . . . experience was a result of  _our_ blood mixing."

Her eyes widened. There was something in his tone . . . . "You . . . you saw the same thing? That was  _real_ , somehow?"

"Not 'real', precisely, but an experience we both shared, yes."

She winced and recoiled, dropping her face down against his chest. There weren't words for how she took that. She was both incredibly embarrassed, yet not embarrassed  _at all_  in the same moment.

Eric pursed his lips as he followed her misleadingly shy maneuver with his gaze. "As stated, the bond created by the Covenant is not usually this powerful."

"But Profe—Minerva warned me something of it. So, she had to have known—"

"She had an idea of it, but believe me, as I was there . . . it was not quite like this."

With her ear against him, the low rumble of his murmured voice sounded like the purr of a jungle cat—something enormous and predatory, but _content_. "So, does it mean something?"

He let out a surprised chuckle, shrugging as he went back to stroking the tips of his fingers along her limbs like he'd done when she'd nodded off after the signing. "I honestly have no idea. I suppose that is something we'll learn together, hmm?"

In spite of herself, a soft little moan escaped her. This was troublingly comfortable. Those sweet, tingling sparks from earlier returned, following his touch. "We  _really_  need to discuss these murders."

"And we will, once Minerva returns." He inclined his head toward the office door. "She's on her way up, now."

Once more she sat up to look at him. She ignored the disappointment that flooded her when his hands stilled. "You can hear that?"

"She just stepped into the elevator . . . or 'lift' you call it here, right?"

Her brows shot up. Yes, yes, she'd realized vampires had exceptional hearing before, but this? "That's both useful and highly disconcerting."

He grinned. "I get that a lot."

Hermione nodded. "Do you also get told that you're intimidating a lot?"

The skin under his eyes tightened. "Why? Do you find me intimidating?"

"No." Her gaze flicked away from his for only the briefest moment as she realized how readily she'd answered that. Despite that she'd registered upon meeting him that he certainly had that quality about him, she could be honest in the fact that she hadn't actually been frightened of him for even a heartbeat.

He only sat there, observing her, and she realized he was waiting for her to elaborate. Maybe he was too accustomed to people finding him scary that he couldn't help himself from wanting a deeper explanation.

As she opened her mouth to speak, the door to the lift opened. The couple in the armchair turned their heads at the same moment to see Minerva step into the office.

The elder witch's gaze darted over them as she crossed to her desk, aware of their attention following her. It seemed to her that Hermione didn't notice her own fingers gripped into Eric's shirt, and Eric . . . . Well, Eric was probably completely aware of the way he held Hermione cradled to him, one of his hands splayed over her thigh, the other loosely circling her upper arm. Completely aware, and uncaring if the hold made for a bit of a spectacle.

Minerva couldn't help but smile at the picture they made. Merlin knew she and Mr. Northman had been quite taken with each other when she'd made the first Covenant, just a few years younger than Hermione was, now . . . . But, oh, that connection clearly had nothing on  _this_.

"I take it the signing went well?" she asked, assuming her seat on the opposite side of her desk from them.

Swallowing hard, Hermione looked toward the other—notably  _empty_ —armchair and seemed to only then notice her grip on him. "Perhaps I should move to—"

"No, no, Hermione," Minerva insisted, holding up a placating hand. "You both look quite comfortable. I imagine separating you two just now would only serve to distract you both from more urgent matters, so let's just proceed."

Hermione was sure the vampire had much more control of himself than Minerva could be suggesting. But she felt his fingers tighten their hold on her at Minerva's words, almost as if it were reflexive.

"Now . . . ." Minerva spoke as she produced a handful of correspondences from the Ministry and pushed them across the desktop. As though she barely noticed the movement, she collected up the Covenant scroll and closed it, setting it aside for the moment. "These contain all the information you'll need to begin your investigation. Locations of where the bodies were found, areas the victims frequented where they may have encountered the vampire, any and all possible connections between the victims—including, of course, that they were all 7th year students—and any other unusual activities in or around Wizarding Britain that might be vampire-related."

Hermione's brows shot up and she had to force herself to ignore a ripple of disappointment when Eric removed one of his hands from her to take the stack of pages off the desk. " _Might_  be vampire-related?"

Minerva opened her mouth to answer, but Eric rather thoughtlessly supplied the information as he scanned the first piece of correspondence with his gaze. "Vampires are not the only supernatural creatures who enjoy the taste of human, or in this case, near-human blood."

Her eyes wide, the younger witch shook her head. "Look at that,  _another_  disconcerting thing. That makes, what? Two in less than five minutes?"

"Sounds about right," he said with a nod as he read. "Give it time. You get used to almost literally every second thing you learn being disconcerting."

She stared at him. "Considering I'm a witch, and thus already have a redefined sense of what falls into the category of 'disconcerting,' that is not at all comforting."

Meeting her gaze, he smirked. "As I said, you get used to it."

"You two should start straight away. The Ministry is demanding to be kept appraised of the situation whenever possible, so I will expect reports on any and all findings. I understand the culprit must be turned over to the magister, but our own authorities will need to assure the public the threat has been dealt with as soon as that becomes true."

Eric arched a brow and nodded. "Of course. I assume then, 'catching up' will have to wait even longer."

Minerva gave a thoughtful smile. "You assume correctly, old friend."

He stood, surprising Hermione in that he kept her cradled to him until he rose to his full height. Only then did he set her on her feet, his movements seeming reluctant—or so she thought, maybe even hoped, but she refused to admit that to herself—as he relinquished his hold on her at last.

Inclining his head in a slight bow to Minerva, he said, "We will return before dawn, hopefully with something to report."

The elder witch nodded and made a shooing gesture.

Hermione bid the headmistress goodnight and turned, following Eric to the lift. Though she did not glance back over her shoulder, she thought she could feel Minerva's attention following them as they disappeared through the door. Despite the gravity of the situation, she could not help but feel the other woman's gaze had been mildly amused.

As they stood in the close quarters of the lift, Hermione was too sharply aware of Eric's presence. Swallowing hard, she kept her eyes cast downward. Everything about him, however—his stature, the length of his limbs, the breadth of his shoulders, she thought she could even detect the scent of his chilled skin—seemed in danger of stealing her ability to think of anything else.

It seemed far too long when the lift stopped and let them out. Already rather late in the evening, given Eric's hours, the castle was mostly quiet. The students were already in their House dorms, or studying late in the library. Somehow, though, even having more space as they started for the stairs toward the ground floor, that sharp awareness stuck with her.

"We should begin with the scene outside . . . what's this say? Damn terrible penmanship. Hogsmeade? Okay, I've heard odder-sounding names." He handed the papers to Hermione for verification.

"All right," Hermione said, nodding as they crossed the floor toward the castle's grand double doors.

When they were out in the brisk night air, she gasped. Not from the chill of late evening, but because she somehow found herself with her back against the castle's outer wall in a blink. Eric had the palm of one hand braced beside her, with the other he clasped her chin in a delicate hold as he stared down at her.

Shaking her head, she started, "What are you—?"

"You were going to say something before Minerva joined us, I believe?" His mouth perked up at one corner as he traced her bottom lip with the edge of his thumb. "You were going explain how it is that I do not intimidate you?"

She fought not to let her eyes drift closed at that touch. Heaven's sake, they'd just bloody met! Damned Covenant. Though, it helped that there seemed a haze in those blue eyes of his that she thought sure might indicate the feeling was mutual.

"I was . . . I was saying that perhaps . . . ." God, why was she having such trouble finding her voice? All because of the brush of his cool skin against her lip? Oh, she was  _doomed_. "I was saying that perhaps I was braced for a more . . . I don't know, frightful façade, I suppose? Minerva said you can be intimidating when you choose to."

He nodded. "She's not wrong. I  _could've_  been frightful, I chose not to."

With a nod of her own, she lifted her hand, circling his wrist with her fingers. She didn't still his movements, it felt too nice. Even the way the edge of his leather jacket's sleeve whispered against her skin was almost intoxicating.

"Promise me something?"

He narrowed his eyes a little, his gaze searching hers. "If I can."

There were too many things clouding her mind as she watched his attention shift from her left eye to her right and back, again. Everything in the Wizarding world that had ever scared her—some things on purpose, some things because they simply  _were_  scary—seemed to clog the words in her throat.

His brows pinched together, but he waited in silence.

"Don't ever intimidate me."

Eric frowned pensively. "Hermione," he said, enunciating her name in a slow and deliberate manner, his voice dropping to that purring murmur from earlier. "I'm a vampire. I can't promise I won't scare you, somehow."

"That's not what I mean." She wasn't sure when she'd started mimicking his movement, stroking her thumb along the inside of his wrist. "I was friends with a werewolf, I survived a magical war. By the time I was eighteen, I'd been through more shit than most witches go through in their entire lives. I know there are things that are going to frighten me about what you are and the things you might have to do in the course of this investigation. That I can forgive. What I mean is don't ever  _choose_  to intimidate me. Not to force something from me, or even for my own good.  _Never_. Can you promise me that?"

"I've never been asked that before." He nodded, and again frowned in thought. "I can promise I will try. What an adventure for both of us to see how well I do with that."


	3. Chapter 3

  **Chapter Three**

They had been walking in silence for a time—Hermione'd honestly forgotten how long it was from Hogwarts to the village of Hogsmeade by foot, but they'd agreed that there might be clues otherwise missed along the way if they traveled by any other, any  _faster_ , means—and she wasn't certain if his reason for remaining quiet was the same as hers. She was having a rough go of it, trying to balance out keeping her attention on their surroundings and her memory of how he'd leaned nearer.

How his gaze had flicked over her features as his lips came so very close to brushing hers. How he'd swallowed hard before pulling back, nodding as he said in that low, purring voice, "We should be on our way."

How she'd nodded back, watching him as he straightened up and swept a hand out for her to lead the way. How she'd had to peel herself off the wall and force her legs into motion to step away from him.

She couldn't be sure if he was as aware of her walking beside him as she was of him, but there was a fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach that told her the feeling was mutual.

"You must have questions," he started, snickering a little when it appeared she jumped just a bit at the sound of his voice. "About my kind . . . about me."

"As I'm sure you have questions about me." Hermione shrugged, glancing at Eric—observing the way he continually scanned the distance as they moved, looking for hints her near-human eyes would never be able to catch—while they walked.

Arching a brow, he nodded, keeping his voice low as he listened for any noises that seemed even little out of place in the wild foliage that lined the cobblestone road on either side of them. "I suppose I do. A question for a question, then?"

"All right," she said, though she could not imagine that anything about her could be remotely interesting to him. "I'll start?"

Again he nodded, making a sweeping gesture for her to proceed.

"Sunlight kills you?"

"Burns and then kills. It's not instant, I'd have time to find shelter. But the older the vampire, the less time they'd have." He cast her a sidelong glance from the corner of his eye. "You're one of those witches who's born to normal humans?"

"Yes. We call normal humans Muggles, thereby those of us not born in Wizarding lines are called Muggleborns." She was aware of his gait. Though his stride was relaxed, it was naturally rather long and she had to walk faster just to keep pace at his side. She didn't know if he found the dramatic difference in their statures amusing, or didn't actually notice her struggle. "Have you ever been married?"

He chuckled. "No. In fact, one of the last things I did with my human life was argue with my father about not wanting to get married. You?"

"No. I came close, once, but . . . for a long time something was telling me things weren't working." She shrugged, remembering how crushed Ron had been when she'd turned him away. "When he asked me to marry him, it just clicked that things weren't working because  _we_  didn't work, if that makes sense." She waited for him to respond in some fashion, only going on to her next question when he nodded. "You're a millennia old and your name is  _north-man._  You were a Viking before you died, weren't you?"

"You're a smart one, I like that. And yes, though I'm technically _still_  a Viking. My turn, again?" he asked, his gaze skittering to hers for a moment before returning his attention to their surroundings.

She nodded, aware that as they'd walked, they had slowly drifted closer together. So near to each other that her shoulder pressed lightly to his arm.

"Your blood tastes different from other near-human witches I've known." He tipped his head side to side as he considered how to explain better. "A bit . . .  _feral,_  somehow. Why?"

"Wait, feral?" She was suddenly very aware of her breathing as she echoed that word. "How is that a 'taste?'"

"Well, there's actual tastes in the way a human would know them, and then there's tastes that have nothing to do with flavor." He shrugged. "Sometimes, the way blood tastes to us is like that. It isn't about the way the blood  _actually_  tastes—though I must say, yours is quite sweet. A bit like wine."

Hermione snickered. "Is that because of  _me_ , or because I'm a witch?"

"A bit of both." A half-smile curved his lips. "There was a definite similarity between you and your predecessor, but then there were things that were only you."

"Like a 'feral' taste?"

"Exactly. That wasn't all. There is a bit of spice to you, by that I  _do_  mean as a flavor." He narrowed his eyes as he fixed his attention on something in the distance for a few seconds. "Some tastes can only be described as feelings, though. And your blood made me feel like I was running through the woods. I felt things like soil beneath my feet and teeth tearing into a fresh kill. Hunting as an animal would."

Her steps stilled nearly of their own volition and he reflexively halted beside her. "Shit," she said in a hissing whisper.

Eric gripped her shoulder with gentle fingers and turned her to face him. The soft, derisive laugh that had bubbled out of her with that single word was a weighted sound, full of far too many emotions that they all crowded together, making it impossible to detect what she felt.

"This upsets you, but you're not shocked, are you?"

"No. And not upset, either, not exactly. It—my feelings about this are complicated." She watched his face as she shook her head. "It was something I suspected about myself for a long time, but there was . . . never any way to confirm it, not really."

His brows pinched together in a questioning look as he waited for her to elaborate.

Frowning, Hermione turned forward and started walking once more. She reached blindly for his hand, tangling her fingers with his as he fell into step beside her. "Sorry, just . . . I think Minerva was right, it's more of a distraction not to touch. Anyway, I have had reason to believe that I have . . . werewolf ancestry. I don't know who, or how far back. It's most likely that the witch or wizard in my family tree and the werewolf were one and the same."

"Werewolf, really?"

"Well, magical werewolves are different from the natural ones you're probably more familiar with. Ours are cursed, not hereditary, passed along through a bite. Unless you're the direct child of a bite victim, then there's a fifty-fifty chance of ending up like your werewolf parent. Otherwise, though, it's like folklore. But there have simply been . . . things that made me think somewhere back, once of my ancestors carried the curse. I would've thought something like this died out somewhere along my lineage before it got to me, especially if it's far enough back that I can't know who it was. But, like I said, there've been things that tell me some traits linger."

"What sort of things?"

Again, she stopped and turned to look up at him.  _God_ , he was so pretty under the light of the half moon and the stars overhead it hurt. "There was an incident when I was fourteen. I had to distract a werewolf—the friend I mentioned—from attacking another friend." She shrugged, aware of his cool fingers tightening around hers—giving her the impression that he didn't have a particularly pleasant history with werewolves. "So I—"

"Doesn't sound very different from the non-magical werewolves I've known."

Hermione ignored the slight against Remus—Eric had no way of knowing who he had been, or how important he'd been to her. "You didn't let me finish. To distract him, I howled, and he stopped mid-hunt to come looking for me. That never should've worked. Werewolves respond to the call of their own kind, but my vocal cords are human, or they're supposed to be. He should've been able to detect the difference. Then, during the War, there was another werewolf and he . . . tried to lay claim to me."

His gaze searched hers as he brought up his free hand to cup her jaw. "You're scared of him. This other werewolf. Even now, you fear him."

She kept her attention fixed on his eyes as she felt it from him. He was angry. Angry, and . . . . "You're jealous?"

"I find it mildly infuriating to think of someone trying to lay claim to you." The vampire smirked. "Blame the Covenant."

She laughed and shook her head, liking the way the movement pressed the chilled skin of his palm a little tighter against her jaw. "I, um, I can't help the fear. I got away from him, but I watched him tear into this girl I grew up with. During the final battle, I saw him  _killing_  her." Her eyes rolled skyward for a moment as she blinked an unexpected wash of tears away. "He's the one who bit my friend and turned him when he'd only been a child. The things he said he'd wanted to do to me . . . . Not being afraid of him is too hard."

"Where is he now, this werewolf you fear? I'd be happy to kill him for you.

The witch let out a shocked giggle at his offer. "I've never heard a suggestion of lethality sound romantic before."

He grinned. "It's part of my charm."

"We sort of got off track here, didn't we?"

"Right, question for a question." His gaze flicked down to trace over her mouth before returning to her eyes. "What would you ask of me next?"

The look he was giving her just now reminded her of the images that had greeted her when she'd been curled in his lap earlier. Reminded her of the sensations that had played across her skin and coursed through her limbs.

_That . . . experience was a result of_ _our_ _blood mixing._

She barely refrained from shifting in his light hold to nip at his fingertips. Well, the first night of their investigation was certainly going nowhere fast. "The experience we shared because of our blood mixing . . . how different is it from what typically happens?"

As though he'd read it from her thoughts, he slid the tip of one finger between her lips. Holding her gaze, he skimmed that delicate touch along the edge of her teeth. "Among humans, it's not uncommon for them to use vampire blood like a drug. Just a drop can make them hallucinate; I'm given to understand that if they take it with another person, those two will share in whatever experience results. It's a grave offense to take a vampire's blood in such a way—except in instances like the Blood Covenant, or if a human one of us has claimed needs to be healed. A human who's had blood directly from a vampire will feel an attraction to them. They can't help it."

"Or near-human, in my case?" she asked with an arched brow, her teeth and tongue moving against his stroking finger as she spoke.

"As I told you, what we're experiencing is because we shared blood. A vampire can give someone their blood and feel nothing about it, whatsoever. It's capable of telling us where that human is, the state of their emotions, but it doesn't cause us to feel anything for them."

Hermione reminded herself to breathe. It was far too easy to get lost in his gaze. "That's how you could tell I was scared?"

"And how you could tell I was jealous."

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "And angry."

Silence fell again as they stared at each other. Hermione had no idea what could be going through his head, but given his explanations, she thought it couldn't be very different from what was going through hers. "When you say 'experienc _ing_ ', you mean we're still—?"

"This is supposed to be question for a question," he said, unsure how he was holding his fangs at bay. She was so warm, the smell of her skin so alluring. He could feel the beat of her pulse humming through his still veins like it was his own. "I believe it should be my turn, now?"

She nodded, cognizant of their bodies brushing against each other. When had they moved closer together?

Eric swept his palm down from her jaw and along the side of her throat as he held up their clasped hands. "You did this so we wouldn't be distracted by _not_  touching. How long do I have to wait for you to realize it's not working?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The purring rumble of his voice, the sensation of his thumb tracing along her collarbone, the way his gaze and the impressions she was picking up from him set off a sweet ache between her thighs . . . . She had no choice but to admit he was right.

"Only until just now, I suppose."

His gaze flicked over her features as he asked, "Then we're in agreement? Something needs to be done about this so that we can focus?"

Swallowing hard, Hermione nodded. She gasped as the world seemed to move around her, impossibly fast she found herself far in the woods that lined the road to Hogsmeade. The night air of the forest was cool against her skin as he tore at her clothes, yet the press of his even-cooler skin against hers made the breezes seem oddly warm.

A sweet, dazed giddiness stole through her, and she found herself fascinated with the way his fangs peeked out from between his lips as he pinned her body against the tree with his own. She curled her arms around his shoulders, bringing one hand to his mouth.

Another gasp tore out of her, despite that the maneuver was deliberate as she ran a fingertip beneath one of his fangs, pricking her skin on the sharp edge. She dragged her gaze from his mouth to lock with his eyes while she slipped her finger between his lips. As she traced over his tongue, she was aware of him pulling her legs around his hips.

She trembled in his embrace, screaming behind clenched teeth as he thrust his hips, sinking into her. In odd contrast to his movements, driving into her again and again, she felt the chilled bark of the tree, scraping into her back like jagged bits of ice.

The sensation reminded her rather distantly that he'd removed her clothes.  _When . . . ?_  Didn't seem to matter much, right now, as it appeared he was equally bare. Though she did find herself wishing she'd gotten a chance for a good look at him, first.

"Wait, wait," she whispered as she plucked her finger from his lips. Oh, the hazy gleam in his eyes was gorgeous, and she found it both infuriating and wonderful that he kept jerking his hips as he  _waited_  for her to go on. "Could we, um, on the ground, maybe? The bark is scratching me."

Eric's expression became oddly serious, though he didn't still his movements for even the space of a heartbeat as he said, "You've had my blood, you'll heal quickly."

Well, that answered a question she hadn't had the chance to ask. With a breathless giggle—and dear  _God_ , he was moving at just the proper angle that she was certain every second thrust might push her into orgasm before she was even ready for it—she shook her head. "No, that's not what I mean. It hurts. I don't want the pain to distract from what you're doing."

A half-smile curved his lips as he nodded. Even as he backpedaled, holding her to him, he murmured, "We are  _going_  to need to expand the scope of your experiences."

In a quick whirl, she found herself on her back, the pile of their discarded clothing between her and the cold, hard soil of the forest floor. She didn't have time to be amazed that he'd moved them both without withdrawing, _or_  stopping, even once.

"Is that to say . . . ?" She didn't know how she was managing to even form words with the way he was grinding his pelvis against her, sealing his body entirely to hers. It seemed every cell in her being shivered in delight. "You mean to get me used to pain?"

"No." He looked like his mouth was watering as he dropped his gaze to her breast. "It means I'm going to help you realize that pain can make pleasure sweeter. The contrast is something to be savored. I'm going to bite you, now."

Hermione nodded, letting her head fall back. She braced for the feel of his fangs, but there was only the briefest pinch of pain. Just as fast as that searing jolted through her, the sting was gone, again, and all she could feel was his mouth closing around her nipple and drawing on the sensitive flesh . . . the way he pressed into her and pulled back, harder and faster.

His hands clamping over her hips, he turned them, smirking against her skin as she gasped, finding herself suddenly on top of him. But he wasn't giving up control. He tightened the grip of his fingers on her, the motions deliberately rough as he rocked her over him.

She arched her back, wincing as the movement pulled her skin taut beneath his fangs. Sensing her discomfort, he let her breast slip from his mouth. Sitting up as she writhed in his lap, he chased the drops of blood that seeped free before her wounds closed with the tip of his tongue.

The feel of him moving beneath her—meeting her rocking with sharp, grinding thrusts—had a tremor wracking her muscles. Even the scrape of his nails as he slid his hands from her hips to cup her arse with splayed fingers pushed her toward the edge.

She could hear her own voice, strangely distant to her ears, as she moaned, choking out sobbing pleas for him not to stop. There might've even been a death threat or two in the mix, she couldn't even keep track of her own words, just now.

He snickered as he drove into her harder, still, feeling her body clench tight around him as she started to come. "If I ever stop before you're finished, I'll  _let_  you kill me."

The witch couldn't answer, her breath trapped in her lungs as her body—even locked around him as she was—seemed to try pushing itself harder against his motions.

Only as it started to ebb did he move her, again. Hermione found herself on her back, once more, as he drove into her, sharp and erratic.

"Oh, dear  _God_ ," she somehow managed as that delicious final thrust pushed over the edge, once more.

She rocked beneath him, utterly helpless as he spent himself, her system reluctantly letting go of that second orgasm. Her body still clenched tight, she whimpered as he at last withdrew. Eric turned then one final time, putting his back to the ground and moving her to rest her head against his chest.

They were both silent for a moment before she made a thoughtful sound.

Shifting his head to meet her gaze, he echoed the noise.

She grinned in spite of herself as she caught her breath. "Well, other than the fact that I should be horrified to be in a forest, in the dead of night, stark bloody naked with a man I only just met tonight?"

His brows pinched together as he laughed. "Yes, other than that?"

"Well, you're a vampire, so your body is dead . . . ." She nodded toward his cock. "Oh, well,  _mostly_  dead—and by the way, bless you for being proportionate, with immensely tall men, that's not always a guarantee—yet, I can hear you catching your breath. But you don't need to breathe, so is that a force of habit from when you were alive?"

"Thank you," he said with another chuckle, "you make me actually wish I could take credit for my proportions. And yes, I should have to think so. If a vampire isn't consciously aware of it, they might end up breathing without even realizing it. Really, we only need it for speaking, or on the rare occasion we might have to pretend we're alive, but there it is."

She traced over the lightly chilled skin of his chest and abdomen with delicate fingers. "So, how long is this . . . being so distracted with one another nonsense going to last?"

"I couldn't say. It could be a few days, weeks. Possibly longer?"

Frowning, she lifted up on her elbow to peer down at him. "Possibly? Well, how long was it for you and Minerva?" She ignored that she had zero desire to discuss him being like this with anyone else, let alone the woman she thought of as a surrogate mother.

Eric arched one eyebrow at her. "Oh, we were never like  _this_."

Her eyes widened. She remembered him saying 'results may vary,' but she didn't think it would be this much of a variation. "Never?"

He shrugged. "Oh, we were enamored of one another for a time. But no. There was some amount of sneaking off together and petting but . . . ."

"But never the need to—"

"Never the need to whisk her deep into the woods and fuck each other's brains out so we could focus on literally anything else?" He laughed when a blush flooded her cheeks at his crude choice of words. "No. Never."

"I see." No wonder the elder witch had been so amused by the state the binding had left Hermione and Eric in. She both envied it, and was bloody grateful not to be in their shoes. "Speaking of what we . . . what we needed to do to clear our heads. What are we going to do moving forward? We need to be able to focus. I need to stop anyone else from dying, and we can't just slip off, mid-investigation, every night until this wears off."

He muttered something, then, that she could've sworn were the words _If this wears off_.

Hermione's brows shot up. "What was that?"

Shaking his head, Eric sighed. "Just thinking out loud. I have a proposal. We meet, and handle this, before we leave the castle each night."

"Without cutting into time we could or should be investigating? Like we are right now?"

Eric nodded. "I'm a thousand years old. I can wake up before the sun sets, as long as I'm in a light-tight space, which my quarters are."

"Oh." She nodded back, swallowing hard as she watched his face. Was she really making a nightly schedule to shag a vampire? The stranger part was, she didn't even seem to mind any part of that question! "I'm on unofficial sabbatical from my teaching post until we catch the murderer, to make it easier for you and I to keep the same hours. Should I . . . should I just stay in your quarters with you, then?"

One corner of his mouth curved upward in a half-smile and he lifted a hand to skim the edge of his fingernails along her arm. "I wouldn't object to it."

Again, she was blushing—bloody hell! How could she after what they'd just done? After laying here completely bare and having a conversation as though it was the most natural thing in the world?

"I'm . . . I'm only suggesting it because it seems to make the most sense, and—"

His fingers pressing over her lips cut short her words. He was looking around, his nostrils flaring just a bit. There went that bone-against-bone click of his fangs appearing.

Holding painfully still, Hermione managed a whisper under her breath, some internal voice urging her to grab her wand. "What is it?" Groping blindly through the pile of clothing, her fingers closed around her weapon.

"I smell blood," he said, his voice so low she barely heard him. "Near-human . . . and . . . ."

She didn't even have a moment to squeak out a shocked protest as he scooped her up and took off. By the time she drew in a breath to yell at him, he halted—stopping on a dime—and set her on her feet.

Looking about the forest, she tried to cover herself with her hands, refusing to light her wand until he gave her the all-clear. He was on his knees, tipping his head this way and that as he examined the trunk of a tree and the surrounding soil with his gaze.

"And vampire blood. Here. It happened here." He nodded, leaning close to the ground to take a long sniff. "The wizard who died put up a fight."

Hermione stared at him as he rose to his full height. This was the first scene, in the woods just outside Hogsmeade. "That wasn't in the report," she said, her voice hollow.

"I know," Eric said, nodding. "No idea if it means anything that a struggle wasn't mentioned."

"So . . . if this is an old scene, nothing . . . immediately pressing . . . why on earth couldn't you have waited for me to get dressed?"

He bit his lip, clearly trying to hold in a snicker at her expense. "Are you angry?"

"Now that I know it's safe and there was no need to hurry? Yes!"

The way she bared her teeth, her chestnut eyes narrowed and her breath escaping her in a hiss . . . . Smiling, he leaned down, tapping her nose with the tip of his finger. "That's why."

Folding her arms, she just about growled at him as she started tapping her foot against the ground. "Oh, will you just use that vampire speed of yours and pop back for our clothes, please?" Standing there, bare as the day she was born, was not going to help her to focus on this situation—head-clearing sex notwithstanding—or figure out why the Ministry kept what could be a vital piece of information from those investigating the case.

Finally letting that snicker free, he shook his head. "Yes, dear." Fast as a blink, he was gone.

In the silent five seconds it took for him to retrieve their clothes and come back, she let out a sigh and a self-reprimand. "Great, Hermione. You're falling for a thousand year old Viking vampire you've only known for a few hours. The bloody hell have you gotten yourself into?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those itching for more TB/HP crossovers, I have started a Hermione/Alcide|Hermione/Fenrir poly-fic entitled "Pack" (and there may be the potential for a Hermione/Eric|Hermione/Alcide fic in the far future). The events of that story will have no bearing on this fic, and vice versa.

  **Chapter Five**

As they stepped into the lift, Hermione had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Already she could tell this impression was not from herself.

Turning her head, she caught Eric giving her a meaningful look. "You don't think we should tell Minerva that the report was missing information?"

"No, I don't."

Though she knew he likely had a reason for his reticence, she couldn't help feeling insulted on the elder witch's behalf. "I trust that woman with my life, and perhaps it's not my place to suggest it—though given our circumstances, I believe I may be the only person who's place it is  _to_ say this—but I thought you did, too."

His icy blue eyes narrowed before he arched a brow. "It is your place to always be honest with me—given our circumstances—even if that means being brutally so."

"Well, that's certainly a weight off," she said, unable to stop an airy laugh that accompanied the words. The last thing she wanted was to anger a thousand year old vampire with her penchant for brutal honesty.

"It is not that I don't trust Minerva." Eric shook his head, speaking faster as the lift began to slow. "Minerva is honor-bound to relay our findings to whomever she is reporting to within your Ministry."

Hermione understood instantly. "And we can't possibly know who in the Ministry might be responsible for the missing information, or why."

"Exactly."

Drawing a deep breath, the young woman exhaled slow just as the door opened out into Minerva's office. The poor thing . . . she had clearly dragged herself out of bed to hear whatever news they might have. Minerva's salt-and-pepper head was down atop her desk, and if Hermione didn't know any better, she'd swear there was a soft snoring sound emitting from her.

"Oh, dear."

She was far too aware of Eric biting back a grin as he approached the desk on silent footfalls. Vampire or not, it seemed completely illogical that a man of his stature should be able to move so stealthily.

"Minerva?" he began in a gentle tone. "Minerva?"

The elder witch snapped up into a sitting position so fast, Hermione nearly drew her wand on instinct at the suddenness of the action. Clearing her throat, Minerva looked from the vampire to her former student, and back. "Hmm?"

Wincing, Eric shook his head as he lowered himself to kneel beside her seat, his long fingers curling over the armrest. "This won't do. It makes no sense for you to do this to yourself simply for the sake of reporting in a timely fashion. Go back to bed, and Hermione and I will furnish you with a report after we have woken in the evening. And you can tell your Ministry  _I_  said this is how it's going to work moving forward. If they insist on putting you through this for the sake of having a few scraps of information a handful of hours earlier in the day, they will have  _me_  to deal with."

It warmed Hermione's heart to see his concern for his old friend. She knew this whole tragic mess was weighing heavily on the headmistress' mind, but she was doing no one any good by pushing herself like this.

The elder witch frowned, blinking sleepily as she once more glanced between the two of them. "I suppose you're correct. I keep forgetting I'm no longer a woman of 65," she said with a wry, if visibly exhausted, grin. "Very well, off to my chambers I go."

"Oh, um, before you do, Prof—Minerva," Hermione interrupted herself to cringe, but this bit of possibly too-much-information was necessary in case she needed to be reached during daylight hours. "Um, I thought you should know, Eric and I thought given our . . . situation, it might be easier if I stayed with him in his quarters for the time being."

Eric bit his lip, but it did nothing to hide the smile curving his mouth this time. Hermione was lucky she wasn't blushing from that expression alone. For her part, Minerva seemed so very tired that she didn't even bother to question it—or insinuate anything, which was the bigger shock to Hermione.

"Very well," Minerva said with a nod. "Goodnight."

Hermione nodded and returned the farewell as Eric crossed the room to join her before the door of the lift.

"Oh, Hermione?"

Hermione turned back. "Hmm?"

"You've some leaves in your hair, my dear. You might want to see to that."

The younger witch turned her head to stare daggers up at the towering,  _snickering_ vampire at her side. After a moment, Eric sobered, giving her a look of perfect innocence as he asked, "What?"

Chestnut eyes narrowing lethally, she swatted his arm just as the door opened. Stepping inside, she folded her arms under her breasts, tapping her toes impatiently as she waited for him.

"That was uncalled for," he said with a shake of his finger as he followed her.

"Were you going to tell me?"

"I was counting on Minerva's observational skills."

"You're an arse," she hissed out the words from between clenched teeth. Oh, she wasn't truly angry with him, more that she was simply annoyed and embarrassed. It was one thing for Minerva to suspect what they might be up to when they were away from prying eyes, but for the woman she respected so much to  _know_  they'd been rolling around together on the forest floor?  _Honestly!_

Those broad shoulders of his moved in an easy shrug as he leaned back against the lift wall and clasped his hands before him. "Yes, but I think you'd like me just a little bit less if I weren't."

Hermione scowled as she watched his face. He smirked, the mirthful expression quickly spreading into a full-blown, if decidedly wicked, grin, and she couldn't help but give into a smile of her own as she rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine, yes. It does make you a bit . . . cute."

Tilting his chin upward in a haughty gesture he let out a satisfied sigh.

The witch crinkled the bridge of her nose as she shook her head at him. "Oh, shut up, you."

* * *

Eric's room was a former teacher's quarters rather far removed from the currently used portions of the castle—Hermione recognized this decision on Minerva's part was made to decrease the likelihood of curious, mischief-seeking students accidentally stumbling over a sleeping vampire. And perhaps the headmistress had learned to be that cautious on account of the adventures Hermione and her friends'd had during her own school years. The windows had been magically sealed to keep out daylight, but that seemed the only change in a room that could otherwise pass as the bed chamber of some medieval earl.

"I'm only using that bureau beside the closet, you're welcome to use the other one for your things."

Hermione nodded, following him as he carried her trunk—as easily as if it weighed no more than a sheet of paper—across the room and set it on the floor beside the aforementioned bureau. As she saw to that, he crossed the room. She could hear the give of the mattress behind her as he sat on the bed.

"This is a bit new for me," she said over her shoulder, though she kept her attention focused on what she was doing.

He snickered. "Which part of 'this', exactly?"

Realizing how many things she could be referring to, she laughed softly as she shut the drawer on her undergarments and pulled out the next for her shirts. "I meant, well, sharing a room. Living with someone, if you will, even if it'll be only temporary. Of course, there were the girls I shared a dorm with when I was a student, and my parents as a child, but . . . even when I was with Ron for so long, it was always a night stayed over here and there, but I never considered staying any place that wasn't wholly my own."

"Are you uncomfortable with this situation?"

The witch snapped her head over her shoulder, pinning him with a wide-eyed look. "No, no! That's not what I'm saying. But it sort of is what I'm getting at. It's a bit odd for me that I'm not uncomfortable with the situation, if you understand my meaning?"

"I do. So, tell me about that very interesting scar of yours."

Hermione slid shut the last drawer, but kept her attention on the bureau as she asked, "My scar?"

"The one that looks like a slash of flame between your breasts."

"Well, vampire vision is amazing. It's faint, I didn't think you'd seen it when we were out there tonight."

"If you'd prefer not to talk about it—"

"No, it's okay. I just . . . ." Sighing, she turned and walked to the bed to stand before him, though she didn't lift her gaze to his, yet. "I just don't talk about my scars, much. My life's never been normal. I don't have scars from cutting my finger while preparing a meal, or scraping my knee falling off a bicycle. Nearly every scar I have is from some horrific ordeal since learning I was part of the magical world."

"It seems you and I are not so different." He smirked. "Age difference notwithstanding."

Raising her eyes to meet his, she laughed. "This one," she said, reaching to take one of his hands in hers and leading his fingertips to trail over the line in her throat. "Is from a mad witch who tortured me with magic during the War. Just before we escaped, she put a blade to my neck, in the commotion, I didn't even realized she'd started cutting until we were out of there. She's dead, now, so no sweet offers of murdering her necessary."

He breathed out a short, hushed chuckle at that. Gently tugging his hand from beneath hers, he took the liberty of removing her shirt. Touching gently along the scar that slashed her torso diagonally from one shoulder to her opposite hip, he said, "Now this one."

"When I was sixteen, toward the end of our fifth year, my friend Harry needed help rescuing his godfather from torture at the hands of the Death Eaters. So we went . . . ." She paused as Eric slipped his hands over her hips and drew her closer. "A battle ensued, of course, and one of the Death Eaters, a man named Antonin Dolohov, launched this curse at me. It was unlike anything I'd ever witnessed. This slashing purple flame that struck and, well, nearly killed me. To this day, I'm the only person to survive a direct hit from that spell. When it kills, it doesn't leave a mark, though. I later learned the way it functions is that it burns the victim's insides while leaving no visible trace."

"And that's why there's a scar? Because you survived?"

She nodded. "Seems the logical conclusion."

"And where is he, now? This Antonin Dolohov?"

"Rotting in prison.  _Him_ , you can absolutely kill if you like."

"Really? From your tone, I should think you'd prefer I hold him still while  _you_  kill him." That already familiar smirk curved Eric's lips. "Why is that?'

Oh, she hadn't wanted to take this conversation down a somber route, but here they were. She distracted herself from the subject even as she answered, tracing her hands up over his shoulders and neck to cup his jaw. "The, um, the werewolf friend I mentioned? He died facing down Dolohov during the War. That's how I knew for certain what a miracle it was that I survived his curse, because it took Remus' life."

"I see. You treasured this man?"

"He was a mentor and a friend. I think we bonded fast as friends because of the wolf in our blood. Sort of an . . . innate pack-thing, I suppose." She nodded to herself, a distracted gleam in her eyes. "But because of that bond, I don't believe I've ever really gotten over his death. I don't think I ever really let on to anyone how much it hurt."

"Over such a long life, I know what it is to lose friends. In this case, I would  _definitely_  hold him still while you kill him." He ducked his head, dragging his lips and tongue over the point where the scar began at her shoulder. "I can't take the scar away, but I do think I know how to make it feel better."

Letting her eyes drift closed, she slipped her hands up from his jaw and around his head to curl her fingers into his hair. His own hands moved down, along her bare sides until he reached the top of her jeans. She nearly laughed at the thought of her zipper hampering his vampire speed in undressing her from the waist down.

He lapped between her breasts as he pulled her clothes from her, entirely, all too aware of how she shivered in his embrace. Pulling back a bit, his tilted his head up to watch her face as he asked, his mouth still close enough to whisper over the swath of smooth, pale skin, "You've never let anyone touch this scar before, not in this way, have you?"

She shook her head. "I mean, people have touched it, sure, but I've never let a . . . a lover pay attention to it like this."

"You're aware that in allowing me, you're signifying a certain level of intimacy in our relationship?"

This time, Hermione nodded. She knew perfectly well aware he wasn't speaking of physical intimacy—that would be silly, they'd had sex after knowing each other only a few hours—but emotional. "This might be the Covenant talking, but . . . somehow it feels  _right_ with you."

Eric stood from the bed, for a moment adoring how he towered over her, how she had to tip back her head to hold his gaze. He turned them and gently eased her back to sit on the edge of the bed where he'd been. "That doesn't scare you?"

"No," she answered, her eyes fixed on his, still, as he undressed.

"I should rephrase that." Straightening up from pulling off his trousers, he stood bare before her. Eric Northman knew well what he looked like. His stature, his pale skin . . . his fangs peeking out from between his lips. Neither of them had registered the sound of them clicking into place as he'd kissed her scar. " _I_  don't scare you?"

She was cognizant that this was a subject they'd already visited. Perhaps this was simply that important to him. She wagered everyone in his life was at least a little scared of him. Except, probably, vampires who were even more ancient than he.

"No." Hermione couldn't help but notice the way he forced a gulp down his throat then. "But me? I scare you?"

He lowered to kneel before her, placing himself between her legs. "Yes."

A watery, humorless smile played on her lips as she shook her head at him. "How could that possibly be?"

Mirroring her expression, he searched her face with his gaze. "Because we're already  _this_. Maybe it is the Covenant talking . . . ." Eric dipped his head, brushing his lips against the start of her scar where her collarbone met her shoulder as he spoke. "But you're so fragile. You scare me because you could be so easily taken away."

"You wouldn't let that happen," she said, once more gripping her hands into the hair at the back of his head to guide his mouth lower along the marred skin.

"Already you made me promise not to intimidate you." He trailed his fingertips over her body. Down her back, along her thighs down to her ankles and back, to tickle up her sides and then cup her breasts. "Maybe you should also make me promise not to let harm come to you?"

Laughing even as she let out a noisy sigh at the sweep of his cool skin against her nipples, she shook her head. "Have you met me? That wouldn't be a promise you could keep. I'll let it be enough that you want to try."

As he bent against her, his teeth scraping at the bit of scar tissue just beside her navel, he pushed her to lie back on the bed. It was a horrible cliché to think she was putty in his hands, but here they were. The only fair thing about it was that he was certain, were their roles reversed, she'd find him equally malleable to her whims.

She trembled a little, somehow finding it exquisite that his skin was so cool against hers the air of the room felt warmer for it. There was a little giddy rippling in the pit of her stomach as he reached the end of her scar and started moving across her body from her hip. Giddy and trembling, strangely like a schoolgirl getting a kiss from her crush while his lips traced over the top of her thigh and he lifted her opposite leg to the side, out of his path.

He parted her with the fingers of is free hand. Raising his head, he spared a moment to look over this most intimate, hidden part of her before meeting her gaze. Her face was flushed, her lips parted with the short, shivering breaths she was drawing, and those chestnut eyes held his unabashedly. Letting his eyelids drift closed, he lowered his mouth to her, lapping and suckling.

Throwing her head back, she tightened her grip on his hair, nearly as though she was trying to pull him closer, still. It was maddening that she could feel his hunger, but he refused to draw on her greedily, the pressure of his mouth instead gentle, despite its insistence.

As he once more moved his hands along her body, the touch of his skin against hers soft, comforting, the realization of why he was being so restrained rocked through her. He scrapped the tip of one fang over her and she clamped her lips shut against a sudden, ecstatic scream at the sweet shock of it.

He wasn't giving her what she wanted . . . . He was giving her what he felt he needed to. He saw her as some fragile thing, and she supposed to a creature such as he, she was, and he was proving he  _could_  be delicate with her.

Part of her wanted to argue. Wanted to talk him into being rougher with her, like he'd been in the forest, as he went back to swirling the tip of his tongue over her, but she understood, too, that it wasn't simply her he was proving it to. He wanted to prove it to himself.

A millennia-old son of a Viking king who could literally tear this castle apart with his bare hands if the idea took his fancy. Perhaps he didn't believe he could be gentle, after all, he was the same person who'd told her that they needed to expand the scope of her experiences over a bit of tree bark scratching her back. Hermione knew, as that delicate, unrelenting sweep of his tongue over her brought her to orgasm, that she could not urge him to act any differently, because even if she didn't need this gesture, he did.

As it ebbed, he withdrew. He shifted her back on the bed and climbed up over her. Holding her gaze—he thought he must be imagining it that she stared up at him in something like wonderment, but the whisper of her blood in his veins told him it was more than that, some deep understanding was being shared in this moment—he rested his palm tight between her thighs, letting her ride out the aftershocks of her orgasm from the pressure of his touch, alone.

When she stilled, he pulled his hand away with some reluctance, though she dared say the look on his face was something like reverence. She took it upon herself to circle her fingers around his cock and guide him to enter her.

He moved into her slow and deep, withdrawing in shivering increments, again and again, his gaze never leaving hers. She trailed her hands over his skin as she rocked her hips beneath him, meeting his motions. The lines of his muscles beneath his chilled skin fascinated her, the feel of them against her fingers as they bunched and relaxed with each thrust enthralled her so that the sensation added to the sweet ache he was building.

As her body tensed, he quickened his pace a little, sank into her a bit harder. She trailed her hands up to his face, drawing his lips to hers.

The whimpering moan she uttered as she started to come was lost in their kiss. Her limbs taut around him, she was only too aware of the thrill of him freezing against her as he joined her in it.

Every inch of her skin tingled and she broke the kiss, dropping her head back to breath in a gasp as he spent himself and her body gave in to a shivering rocking against him.

As the tension drained from them, he simply held her to him. He waited until her pulse had steadied and her breathing had slowed before he withdrew and shifted to lay beside her on the bed.

Unlike in the forest earlier, she didn't turn on her side to rest her cheek against his chest. This time, she simply scooted closer on her back to pillow her head in the hollow of his shoulder, staring up into the bed's canopy with him.

"I think it's been a while since I did that," he said, a hint of curious amusement edging his voice.

Arching a brow, she turned her head to look at him. "We did _that_  barely a few hours ago."

Eric laughed as he met her gaze. "No, no. I don't just mean fucking." Again with how she blushed at him using that word—she was adorable. "Tell me, of all the times in your life that you've had sex, how many times would you actually consider what you did 'making love'?"

Her face fell as she pondered his question. "Oh. I suppose you do have a point, there. Guess it's been a while for me, then, too."

He smirked, tipping his head to kiss the top of her hair. "Good."

"Although . . . ."

Now it was his turn to arch a brow as he echoed that word. "Although . . . ?"

"You, um, you didn't bite me. Your fangs were out the entire time, and you didn't bite me."

"Would you have preferred it if I had?"

The witch shrugged. "Well, I don't know, I'm just saying, your fangs  _were_  out, and you had pretty much anywhere on my entire body to choose from . . . ."

Snickering, he shook his head. Cupping her jaw in a delicate grip, he held her so she couldn't look away. "Hermione? Would you like me to bite you?"

She hated that she actually found herself hoping for the sting of his teeth—wasn't that masochism?—but she knew it wasn't just any pain. It wasn't just any bite. It was only his. Only the idea of Eric's teeth sinking into her, of Eric's icy blue eyes holding hers as her blood welled to the surface and he swept his tongue across the wounds to claim it.

Her look just then was both pleading and strangely innocent as she said, "Yes, please."

With his free hand, he took hold of one of her wrists. His eyes locked with hers, he lifted it to his lips. God, the expression on her face just now as she watched him was in danger of making him hard all over again.

He bit down, taking in the way she winced just a little with the sensation of his fangs breaking her skin and how her body tensed against his for a flickering heartbeat. As he nursed a few drops from the wound, he understood what she'd meant. He was a vampire, as fulfilling as actually making love to her had been, it didn't quite feel complete.

Not yet.

Lifting his head, he brought his own wrist to his mouth. As they stared at each other, he bit into his skin, opening a small cut for her. Bending back to her wounded arm before him, he offered his blood to her.

She never looked away—she wasn't even certain she blinked—as she sealed her lips around the cut. Their gazes held as they drank from each other, small, tender sips, just until his wound healed beneath her suckling pulls.

He stopped when she did, removing her wrist from his mouth and letting out a sigh.

"Better?" he asked, despite that he already knew the answer—the witch looked as though she was just settling down from the throes of another orgasm.

Hermione nodded as she closed her eyes, that same heady euphoria she'd experienced when they'd rebound the Covenant pulling at her, once more.

Eric smiled, closing his eyes, as well. He could sense that the sun was coming up, so it was just as well that he could feel her falling asleep in a fog of bliss. Secure in a way he'd not felt in some time, he let himself drift into slumber.


End file.
